The Tragedy of Maerzadí
by iSackettEcho
Summary: Once, long ago, the elf Maerzadí had a premonition that he would accidentally kill his son in battle. Rather than live to see it happen, he committed suicide, saving his son...  Arya  Previously posted on SF3


_Once, long ago, the elf Maerzadí had a premonition that he would accidentally kill his son in battle. Rather than live to see it happen, he committed suicide, saving his son, and at the same time proving that the future isn't set. Short of killing yourself, however, you can do little to change your destiny, since you don't know what choices will lead you to the particular point of time that you saw._ ~Arya Dröttningu

The Tragedy of Maerzadí

I hold you, my baby son, in my arms. Your face glows with magic and youthful exuberance. You grasp my fingers with your tiny hand and squeeze. I can already tell that you will be strong. You will have the strength and grace of our race, the strength and grace of our fathers. Already, I am proud of you, still while you have yet to achieve anything.

You are so small, and I feel so large. How fragile a tiny life can be yet so strongly urgent upon living. I am amazed at how full of life you are. I watch you with fascination as your blue eyes dart around the room. You point with your tiny fingers towards the doorway. _Your mother will be back soon, my son_, I whisper faintly to you.

Your fingers play with my face, grasping my pointed nose, poking my thin cheeks, and yanking my long, silvery hair. I draw you closer to me. I will never let you go. I will defend you with my very life, if ever there is such a need.

However, you do not stay tiny for long. I watch you with fatherly pride as you grow strong and healthy. Soon, you are tall and lengthy, quick and graceful. I laugh when your mother argues with you to cut your hair to keep it out of your brilliant blue eyes.

_Too beautiful are your blue eyes to be covered up!_ she says.

You laugh and run off to play.

I teach you many things. I teach you our elven history, how to read and write, how to use a sword and bow. I watch with pleasure as your mother teaches you how to sing and use magic. The knowledge my father gave me, I gladly pass on to you now.

The days and months and years go by so quickly. Too soon, you are grown. As an adult, you are brave and wise. You are strong and lithe, and I know deep in my soul that you will have a good life. I smile for such a wondrous fate.

I sleep peacefully every night. I dream of your future and of how you will grow and be happy. But then, suddenly, my dreams grow darker. I dream of war that consumes our land, you and I amid the very heart of the fray.

Winter arrives, and the snow falls, blanketing the forest in a white, hazy ice land. A civil war begins, fighting for who will next assume the elven throne after the tragic death of our king.

With his dying breath, the king bequeathed his throne to his oldest daughter. As one of his loyal subjects, I abide by his wishes and pledge my alliance to the eldest daughter. Many of younger generations, however, side the younger daughter, yearning for change in our unchanging world beneath the pines of Du Weldenvarden. You, in turn, decide to fight for the younger daughter.

I want you to fight alongside of me. But you defy me. I do not understand why. We argue, and my heart aches as I watch you walk away from me. Why would fate play such a game that you should be mine own enemy? Only an average warrior am I, but to leave my sovereign, I can not.

_Do not leave, my son,_ I beg.

But you do not listen. You gather your weapons and provisions and leave, never pausing once to look back. I feel my heart crack along the tiniest of fissures, like cold, brittle metal in the negligent forge.

Winter thaws and blends into spring. One night, I lay my head down to sleep, and I dream a most terrible dream:

I am marching with others through the forest to the cliffs at Tel'Naeír. Below the mighty cliffs, the two sides wage a battle. I help lead the way, swinging my glorious sword Kveykva, littering the ground with the dead bodies of my kind. I swing my sword and clip an elf in the thigh. He raises his sword and swings at my head. I duck the stroke, but he kicks my feet out from beneath me. I fall to the ground. He stands above me. I see another elf running towards me, not one of my army. I thrust the sword into the one above me. As he falls to the ground dead, I raise my sword and thrust it into the young elf running towards me.

As my sword pierces the deep parts of his flesh, he cries out, his sword dropping from his hand. My heart skips a beat. I know the sound of that cry! As the elf falls to his knees, his blood littering the earth, my sword slips from my hands, and I reach forward to rip the helmet of the elf's head.

I scream, for it is you, my son! My heart hurts as though a sword has been driven through my own. I watch in agonizing horror as you choke on your own blood. As you fall back, I catch you before your head can hit the ground. I pull you into my arms, cradling you as I once did upon your birthing day. A battle rages around me, but the only one I notice is the battle raging against me in my heart.

_I am evil!_ I scream inside. _I have killed mine own son._

I cry your name as you draw your last breaths, your blue eyes wide with fear of dying.

_I was trying to save you, father_, you breathe.

_No, speak not of such things_, I beg. _My heart cannot bare it, for I have killed you._

_By you hand or another's, someday I was to die_, you try and comfort me.

I shake my head vehemently. _You should not die. We are immortal. Rather, I should die in your stead!_

You do not hear me. Blood flows from your nose, a stream streaks your lips from within your mouth. You gurgle and choke again. Your last breath is ragged. When you exhale, I can feel your soul leaving your body.

_No!_ I scream. _My son! My son! Come back to me._

I shake your dead body, hoping against all hopes that the magic of the land would flow through your veins once again and let you breathe and live.

I burry my head in your hair, tears flowing down my cheeks and dripping onto yours. I try to wipe the blood from your face, my hands shaking under the weight of my great sorrow.

As I held you upon your birthing day, I hold you now upon your dying day.

I jolt awake. My cheeks are wet. I brush my fingers across my face, brushing away my tears. My mate does not wake. She sleeps soundly as I slip from the bed. I walk out onto the balcony of our house, sung from the tree. I look out over the forest of Du Weldenvarden. In the distance, I can see the misty Crags of Tel'Naeír. Dawn is just beginning to cast its light over the cliffs and splash into the forest beyond.

My soul is heavy. I cannot breathe. I cannot even speak. I slip on my robes and silently sneak away into the darkness of the forest. Under one of the oldest trees, I sit and think. The dew wet ground soaks through my robes, but I feel it not. My entire body is numb, feeling cold even past my weary bones and into my very soul. My soul is made of lead.

Oh, how my heart aches! My son! I drop my head into my hands, resisting the urge to pull out my beautiful, silvery locks of hair.

I hate myself. I will kill my own son. An evil creature am I, more lowly than the ants I sense scurrying by my feet. I push everything away from my thoughts, retreating inwards into myself. But there, I find no comfort.

I think of you. I think of your shinning face. My son, my only son! And I will kill him. Oh, tragic being that am I! What have I ever done to deserve such an accursed fate? My premonitions are never wrong; they never before have been wrong. I dreamed of years ahead of your childhood, watching you grow before you ever actually did. I saw the war before it came to our doorsteps. I even saw you leaving me, and I playing my role flawlessly that day just as I had watched myself do in my dreams. I couldn't change my words or yours then, though I knew what would come. If I could not then, I will not be able to this time either. One cannot change fate.

I cry. I sob pitifully. I am the most wretched among elves. My pain swirls inside me, consuming all my energy and all my will to live. I want to die. I do not want to live such a fate.

I want to die before such a thing happens. But I have learned time and time again that fate cannot be changed…. Right? It is an unreckonable force. Oh, how I do not want to live to see the day!

Suddenly, a thought strikes me. I stop my crying and sit rigidly still. I ponder the thought, turning it over in my mind as hope swells in my chest.

If… I can hardly bring myself to say it lest it all be in vain and in unfounded hope… if I kill myself, I will not live to see my son killed mine own hand. It is the only way to change my fate! I must die, and I can only be killed by mine own hand.

I leap to my feet and race home to my mate, your mother. Breathless, I sit on the edge of the bed and watch as she stirs. I brush my fingertips over her dark hair, her pale face, her slender neck. I will not have much more time with her. I will miss her dearly. Your mother was a gift to my life, the perfect match for me. I know not what I ever did to deserve her, nor what I did to win her adoring love.

Feeling my faint touch, she blinks open her eyes, her long eyelashes fluttering, and captures my hand in her own. She begins to smile, but when she sees my face, she frowns and bolts upright into a sitting position.

_What is wrong?_ she asks. I realize then how my face must look—eyes sunken in, cheeks hollow, deep bruises beneath my eyes. I choke on my answer, just as you will choke on your own blood. Your mother shakes my shoulder, her brown eyes wide with the frantic fear that only comes from the unknown.

_Do not do this to me_! she cries. _You must tell me what is wrong or I shall think the worst!_

I breathe then and tell her of how I will kill you. I cringe as I say the words, and I hear myself sobbing, though I feel too far away from my body to understand the action. I cannot look at your mother's face. I am too afraid of what I might find there as I tell her of the last part. _I will kill myself,_ I whisper.

She bursts into sobs. I look to her face, but it is buried in the pillows of our bed, the pillows you threw at me in play as a child. I cannot bear her pain in addition to my own. I flee from the room, all but running in my haste to be away from her suffering. I collapse outside the threshold of our house, the bark at the base of the tree cutting into my spin as I slump against it. I stare into space, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing but dread and pain.

A while later, I do not know how long, your mother stands before me. All I can see are her graceful, white, bare feet. I do not dare to look upon her face, shameful creature that I am. She kneels before me and gently slips her hand beneath my chin. My eyes meet hers. Her eyes are red and swollen from her many tears, but I see something in them that I had not expected to find—resolve.

Sunlight glints off something in her hand. I glance down to see what it is. She holds my silver dagger in her hands_. You must kill yourself, for our son's sake,_ she says. I drop my head, cut deep by her agreement, though I would have convinced her of it anyway_. But I must die with you,_ she adds, barely above a whisper.

I lift my head again. My tears blur her face from my vision. _I love you_, I whisper.

I hear her repeat the words, and I pull her affectionately into my arms_. But you cannot die with me._ She tries to lift her head to protest my words, but I keep her held close to me. _No, our son must have someone to guide him, family to still have. He will come home to you, and you must be here._

You will come home, won't you, my son? Once I am dead and gone, you will come home to your mother?

I regret my words on our parting day. I regret that I did not tell you then that I love you, always and forever, wherever you go and whatever you do.

_I must go and do it now, for I know not the day of the event_, I say.

Your mother clutches me to her. _No! Not yet_, she cries. _Do we not have more time?_

I shake my head and repeat my words. _I do not know when it is to happen._

I lift the knife from her grasp. I stand stiffly to my feet and turn to walk away. Your mother grasps my arm and pulls me to her for one last sweet kiss. Silently, I trace the features of her face. Her fingers brush over mine too, memorizing forever my features.

_I wish I could die with you,_ she whispers.

_I know_, I say, for I would too if I were she.

I embrace her for the last time, tightening my arms around her and burying my face in her lilac scented hair. My world is crumbling, but yours will not, my son.

As I turn away, my heart is torn in two. Sometimes life is too beautiful to leave behind. But then I remember that I am giving away this beauty so that you may find more of your own, that you may have more life to live.

I creep through the forest. Why I creep, I do not know. There is no one to stop me, no one to remove me from my new course. Fate will not win, not this time! Unexpectedly, my heart begins to heal, slowly and without certainty, at the thought. My son will live and thrive!

I walk for a very long time; I walk until the sun is high overhead. At last, I choose the place of my death. I find myself in a place I have never before seen, a place deep in the forests of Du Weldenvarden. There, I kneel on my knees, and draw the silver blade from its engraved sheath.

Before I plunge it into my heart, I pause for my last living moment. I do not take in the beautiful spring scene of budding leaves and blooming flowers. I do not listen to birds chirp or the chipmunks chatter in their play. I do not run my hands over the soft grass or the rough bark of the nearest oak tree. I do not even let my mind wander over the land.

Instead, I close my eyes and focus on one distinct memory—your mother holding you in her arms on the day you were born. The two people I care about the most, together. Yes, my son, you will live and thrive.

Without opening my eyes, I raise the silver blade.

My heart beats, pounding out a thunderous rhythm. I count my last…

…and plunge the blade into my heart.

I gasp, pitching forward. One hand holds the dagger to my chest, and the other I throw forward to stop my fall forward onto my face. My chest contorts in pain, feeling as though it is trying to turn inside out. Warm blood runs out over my cold hands. I watch it through blurry eyes dripping onto the green, spring grass. My mouth is suddenly dry, and my hands shake as my heart stutters. So much like sorrow, a dagger to the heart feels.

I let myself fall and roll onto my back. I stare up through the treetops, shifting sunlight blinding my eyes for a moment as the life recedes from my veins. My heartbeat grows faint, and my limbs become stiff as I draw my last breath.

Such an awful feeling is dying, my son. Yet, I smile, knowing that I have saved you from death. As I lay dying, I know, at last, that I have done at least one thing right in my life.

My heart beats its last.

I close my eyes once more…

…and die.


End file.
